Doves
Kingdom of Rust

No one would mistake Doves for being anything other than a British band.
This, perhaps, might explain why the group has been unable to garner the same
level of attention on this side of the Atlantic as it has in the U.K. While
crafting its latest endeavor Kingdom of Rust, Doves resisted the urge to
tinker too much with its tried-and-true formula. In fact, most of the stylistic
changes that fuel the outing occur beneath the surface of the material.
Unfortunately, in the four-year span that has separated Kingdom of Rust
from its predecessor Some Cities, Doves also hasnít grown nearly as much
as it should have. Consequently, the ensemble once again has failed to create an
album that is anything more than superficially compelling.

Still, there is no use in denying how ambitious Doves appears to be. With
Kingdom of Rust, the band continues to build its songs in layers, sculpting
them from towering arrangements that are designed to fill the immense spaces of
outdoor amphitheaters and arenas. Even more than before, there are textural
currents that run through Dovesí work, such as the melted disorientation that
greets the lovesick trek home outlined in 10:03 and the floating,
Cure-like ambience that surrounds The Greatest Denier. Elsewhere, Doves
laces the title track with a galloping groove that musically ponders how The Smiths might have fared as a country band.

Almost in spite of the groupís playful, spirited adventurousness, however,
Kingdom of Rust ultimately suffers from Dovesí inability to make its
material truly transcendent. A big part of the problem lies with its melodies,
which just arenít terribly insistent. The dance-beat grooves of Jetstream
recall those that drove the material on U2ís Pop. Yet, without Bonoís
flair for capturing the dramatic, emotional aspects that are so integral to the
finest specimens from the R&B genre, the song sounds cold, detached, and
unequivocally tedious. Likewise, the funky rhythms of Compulsion are
undercut by the lack of passion in Dovesí delivery, and although Birds Flew
Backwards strives to mark the changing seasons, it is too claustrophobic for
its intimate reflections to succeed.

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect about Kingdom of Rust is that on
every track it seems as if Doves is on the verge of finding its footing. Yet, it
never does. The urgency of Spellbound, for example, is sparked by a
winding, twisting guitar solo. Hints of XTC-derived pop lurk inside the churning
air of Winter Hill, and The Outsiders anchors its heady, Pink Floyd-ian swirl with a forcefully determined march of drums. There is no doubt
that if Doves tempered the complex nature of its material, it would be able to
compete with Coldplay on the world stage. To its credit, it also is quite
apparent that the band has no desire to achieve this feat. If only it could find
a way of drawing upon either Radioheadís hypnotic allure or
Kaiser Chiefsí sense
of fun, Doves very well could live up to its potential.